


no more black tea

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, this is really bad sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When was the last time you slept?”Sherlock grunts as a response, still rummaging through cabinets for coffee.“Sherlock.” he begins again“When did you last sleep?”“Sunday” he mumbles, facing away from john, now looking for some black teaor, john forces poor sleep deprived sherlock to sleep,,
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	no more black tea

Sherlock shuffles around the flat, eyes rimmed with dark circles. 

“John!” he yells out, directed nowhere in particular.   
“Where’s the coffee!” he continues, turning in a circle to check again. 

John walks in, dresses in a cream sweater and blue plaid shirt underneath.   
He sees that sherlock has not changed since yesterday and let’s out a worried sigh. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

Sherlock grunts as a response, still rummaging through cabinets for coffee.   
“Sherlock.” he begins again   
“When did you last sleep?” 

“Sunday” he mumbles, facing away from john, now looking for some black tea. 

“your not going to find anything.” John says, leaning on the countertop.   
“I took out everything caffeinated, I may not be as skilled as you but I know when someone severely needs sleep” 

Sherlock knows he needs sleep too, and he has tried to sleep. Many times.   
But his mind is restless about this case, each little detail haunting his brain before he can settle into a restful slumber. 

“John.. I have tried to sleep.” he says wearily, head now resting on the cabinet door that is above the countertop.

John is surprised at this, he assumed that Sherlock was forcing himself awake with coffee and caffeinated tea for the case, but now he knows it is maybe much worse than that. 

John makes him some herbal tea, forcing him down into the couch. 

“Drink” he demands, handing him the large mug.   
Sherlock his holding a book, one filled with poems.   
Something john had lent him a little while back. 

Sherlock settles in, legs gracefully tucked sideways to him.  
He sips the tea ever so often, eyes eating up the words on each page as his heart receives the feelings encouraged by the poems. 

John sat, typing for his blog.   
Ever so often he glances as sherlock, who’s eyelids are slowly drifting shut. 

John bears soft snores escaping his friends lips, so he turns and grabs the mug of lukewarm tea and places it on the table. 

Sherlock shuffles closet to John every so often, each movement passing unnoticed by the other man. 

Until he felt something pressing against his side.  
He saw sherlocks black, almost blue hair brushing against his cream sweater.  
His hand went down to brush through it.   
This was a partially involuntary act, he was curios about the texture of his hair, but also wanting to know the sensation of doing such an almost intimate act with the man he may or may not have feelings for. 

The touch lights his fingertips on fire, not a burning sensation of pain but one of pleasure and a warm sense of calm. 

He continues this. 

Sherlock wakes up shortly after this, body tensing you slightly at the unexpected movement and presence.   
Then he realizes it is john and relaxes into the touch, he doesn’t understand why but he relishes the feel of Johns fingers carding though his hair. 

He keeps his eyes shut and body still, only focusing on the warmth spreading through his body, one of sweet but also bitter feelings left behind a closed door, let out only a few times. 

He appreciates this but doesn’t understand why it brings him so much comfort. 

Neither of them do.


End file.
